If She'd Let Me
by Paceismyhero
Summary: Drabble-esque prelude to my "To Be With You" story, though you don't need to read that one to understand this one. Puck's POV while driving to New York to take down Brody for Rachel. Rated M for language only. Please read and review!


**Author's Note:** So, apparently I have a bit of trouble 1) letting go and 2) remembering things. The entire premise of this "drabble" was written way before I'd written/posted "To Be With You". I'd just forgot all about it and then found it today and couldn't let go some of the awesomely insightful (she says modestly) things I'd jotted down. So, here we have it.

For those starting with this one, note that it can be read all by itself and you don't even need to read "To Be With You" to (hopefully) enjoy this one. I'm just calling it a prelude because it mostly flows into Puck's POV from that story. If you DO want to read it afterward, though, please do so (and let me know what you think)!

THANKS!

* * *

Puck cranked the air conditioning in his car, bringing the temperature even lower. There was snow on the ground outside still from an earlier storm and the air was already near freezing given the fact that it was a little after five in the morning, but his eyes were starting to droop. He'd been driving for the past eight hours and had woken up early the morning before to take his little sister to school for his mom. The shivering paired with the blasted radio were the only things keeping Puck awake. Well, that and the unadulterated rage still coursing through him.

He'd just fell onto the mattress, more than ready to pass out from exhaustion, when his phone had buzzed on the bedside table. He'd considered not answering, then completely decided not to when he saw it was just Santana. He was still (irrationally) mad at her for uprooting to New York without so much as a goodbye, let alone an invitation to tag along. Last year, when everyone was talking about their dreams and futures and shit, they'd promised one another (after way too much JD, but that wasn't the point) to run that kind of stuff by the other first; they were friends, but the kind where they had no beef telling the other when s/he was being completely retarded or fucking up royally.

But then the phone had buzzed again, so he knew there was no way she was going to let him sleep without talking to her. And all his pent up frustration completely flew out the window when the sound of her sniffling on the other end echoed in his ear. Legit, Santana _didn't_ cry. He'd known her ever since she'd moved to Lima (adjacent) in middle school and he'd never seen it. He'd all assumed it wasn't possible until he'd heard about it happening once from Brittany. When he'd tried to make fun of her about it, though, she'd straight-up kneed him in the junk - effectively bringing a tear to _his_ eye.

_"San?" He asked, panic in his voice. Sure, they gave each other shit, but that was just the kind of friends they were. Deep down, they would do anything for the other - more like brother and sister than friends, which was only kind of weird since they used to fuck. "What's goin' on?"_

_ She sniffled once more then breathed out heavily, collecting herself. "Puck, you need to come to New York. Berry and Kurt kicked me out of their apartment and I'm stuck in this shit motel even though I'm right and no one will believe me long enough to help and ..."_

_ "What do you mean they kicked you out of the apartment?"_

_ "They said I'd embarrassed them. Me! Embarrass __**them**__," she scoffed. "Talk about blind to what's right in front of them."_

_ "What's going on?" He asked again, mostly because he knew she hadn't called to talk about all the reasons she considered herself better than Rachel and Kurt - combined._

_ "I found out B's boy is a hooker, but they think I'm lying. I tried calling Finn, but he's in the middle of some sob story called his life and ... you need to come here. You need to help me put that fucker in his place." There was determination in her voice, but he could also practically hear the shrug preceding her next statement. "Who knows? Maybe she'll even thank ya properly for savin' the day."_

It was a lot of information to be thrown at one so quickly (and offhandedly), but it didn't take much else to get Puck in his truck with nothing more than a duffel bag and his guitar case. He'd heard about the Brody kid from Finn one night that they'd hung out after work and the dude sounded like a douchebag. He'd told Rachel as much at Miss P and Schue's non-wedding a few weeks ago, but she'd brushed it off as jealous ramblings, which, fine. But if Santana was right - he used _if_ loosely because he knew better than to question the Latina - then it was also true. And, more to the point, he was going to be a _dead_ douchebag.

Puck had sat idly by while Rachel went out with loser after loser - and, yeah, Finn was his boy, but whatever. He'd kept his distance mostly because he'd known there was no shot and because she'd seemed happy. But he couldn't just sit back and let this asshole hurt her. Unrequited feelings aside, they were friends; he'd known her longer than everyone else (except Finn), and he couldn't help but want to protect her. Even if she never knew it was him, he had to help.

For him.

No lie, he'd been feeling like such a loser lately. He'd used to make fun of the kids who stayed around Lima after high school, and now he was one of them. And he'd said he'd moved back for Jake and his ma and little sister, but that was bullshit. For one, Jake didn't need him. That kid had the rep to carry him through high school, and was way smarter than Puck ever was at that age. So he was golden. But, for real, the whole thing was just an excuse to leave LA, where all he'd done was party and half-ass trying to make it as a screenwriter.

Legit, Kitty was dumb as rocks if she actually thought what he'd written was any good. And did she honestly think it mattered that she was proud of him? She didn't _know_ him. She was a God damn freshman in high school; she didn't know anything, about anything - especially him. There was only one girl who'd ever said she'd been proud of him who mattered, and she ... well she'd never see the script because it was basically about her. About them, really, in some alternate universe where he wasn't a pathetic waste of space and she ... noticed.

That could very well be the reality he was driving toward, though. With each new state Puck passed, he felt lighter and lighter. Free. Free from the burden he'd put on himself by moving back home and free from the notion that all he'd ever amount to was a Lima Loser. If he could do this, be the bigger/better man, maybe she'd see. Without Brody or Jesse or Finn (so far) in the way, maybe it could finally be his turn. To show her ... to show all of them.

And, sure, maybe it would only last another week, but he was sick of living a _what if_ life. Rachel had always been his biggest what if, not because she'd been smart enough to dump his ass in sophomore year, but because he was 110% sure he could fix everything else if she was by his side. He'd watched her practically carry Finn for two years; even now, she was still the only reason Finn probably wasn't curled up in the fetal position somewhere. For real, that guy's life sucked something fierce at the moment. If it weren't for Burt's tire shop, the dude would have nothing. Like, literally nothing. No job. No girl. Nothing. He didn't want or need her to carry him, but there was just something about her proximity that had always provided him some sort of clarity.

Hopefully, Puck thought as he passed the welcome sign for New York and saw his phone light up with a text from Santana telling him when and where to meet her for their ambush, he would be able to do the same for Rachel.

If she'd let him.


End file.
